"Face what?" he asked, dropping his voice as though he were afraid that some one would overhear.
"You and me." Maggie gathered her resources together. "Before we were married we were great friends. You were the greatest friend I ever had except Uncle Mathew. And now I don't know what we are."
"Whose fault is that?" he asked huskily. "You know what the matter is. You don't love me. You never have ... Have you?" He suddenly ended, turning towards her.
She saw his new eagerness and she was frightened, but she looked at a little bunch of stars that twinkled at her above the dark elms and took courage.
"I'm very bad at explaining my feelings," she said. "And you're not very good either, Paul. I know I am very fond of you, and I feel as though it ought to be so simple if I were wiser or kinder. I've been thinking for weeks about this, and I want to say that I'm ready to do anything that will make you happy."
"You'll love me?" he asked.
"I'm very fond of you, and I always will be."
"No, but love."
"A word like that isn't important. Affection—"
"No. It's love I want."